The Frog
by MyRoadOfBlood
Summary: Ten years earlier, Fran's memories of the Varia are completely wiped, and upon leaving with them to start his training, he realizes he is in way over his head. And why does the prince hate him so much, anyway! BelxFran. M for violence.


**The Frog**

**Chapter 1 – The Frog That Swims In Puddles**

_A/n; I had planned this kind of fic before the chapter updates, and it'll obviously be way off the canon story still, so yep. Ten year earlier Bel and Fran. Sorry for such a short first chapter and cramming a lot in, just trying to set the general mood._

_XxX_

The rain drops that pattered against the window were so large in number that the view outside was obscured completely. Not that there was much to look at, anyway. The building was situated far away from anything but grassland and forests, and he already knew that there would be nothing more to look at, nothing new to see, unless he explored this huge building.

Why he was here, was still not understandable.

Though he had replied with a sarcastic and creative remark towards the one with the long, snowy white hair, he was thankful when handed a blanket. But he had to admit that it was not the best of conditions, and the patches that must have once been holes were sewn up terribly, he presumed with whatever materials had been lying around. Alongside the beige, tatted blanket, he was given a pillow. Though the inside of it was not very plump, thus leaving it almost flat, the cover looked almost new, which he was glad about. The last thing he wanted was one covered in someone's spit or something. But when the man had lead him into a room the size of a broom cupboard, flicked on the light, and exclaimed the pile of fabrics was going to be his bed, that was when he spoke up.

"I know you aren't fond of me, Santa. But like I tried to tell you before, I'm not Harry Potter." He whined, though his voice was monotone. As usual. No change to each syllable, each word.

"Just shut the fuck up, kid. We're still fixing up your damn room, so don't die of pneumonia or something until we're fucking done." He grunted in response, chucking the folded uniform over to Fran. He was out of the door and slammed it behind him before Fran could open his mouth to respond. In silence, he stared at the black garments in his hands.

XxX

And the night continued to be one of absolute boredom. Fran had placed the uniform on the floor beside the mattress, and lay back on it, staring at the ceiling. Absent-mindedly counting the tiles.

He sang as his eyes scanned the ceiling, half-closed and groggy.

"_Frère Jacques. Frère Jacques. Dormez vous? Dormez vous?"_

_Crash._

"Ushishishi, you're in Italy now, little Fran."

There was a moment of silence before Fran's eyes flitted to the door, his expression completely wiped of any emotion. Even the exhaustion on his face seemed to sleek away.

"Oh, Princess." He stated.

The blonde scowled for a moment, throwing one of those oddly shaped knives, Fran pushed himself up from his lying position swiftly, _just_avoiding the knife to his face. Though he sighed when it went into the pillow. As if his sleeping arrangements weren't tedious enough.

Immediately, he began to work on retracting it.

"That wasn't very polite. This is the second impression and you're still not being any nicer." Fran said, his voice confident for someone who was almost slaughtered.

There was another moment of silence between them, before he heard the door slam. Once he had removed the knife, he turned his head to look at it.

He was wrong to expect the blonde to have walked out.

Fran held the knife out, and the blonde snatched it back, grinning that obscene, jaw-aching smile.

"Ushishishi, how gentleman of you, little Fran! Much more-so than your older-self."

To his confusion, there was an air of pain about the boy's words that made him wonder.

"What's your name?" Fran questioned, his head cocking to the side in what could be noted as mock curiosity. Though under the sarcastic gesture, he was generally interested.

"Belphegor. Though I also go by Prince The Ripper." As if to emphasize the nickname, he spun the knife around his finger, tossing it a few meters into the air before catching it.

"Bel-phe-gor." Fran dragged out, chewing his lower lip in thought for a few moments.

The named boy stood proudly, letting out that odd laugh once more.

"What a weird name." Fran said, his expression back to what seemed that of someone bored.

This time he didn't dodge the knife so smoothly, and let out a small cry when it cleanly slit his shoulder open, and a part of him shuddered at the feeling of the blood trickling down his skin.

"Ushishishi, there's hope for you yet, little Fran."

As he watched the Prince leave, in a glowering, wincing, silence. He cursed himself for not digging deeper. For flunking the opportunity to gain answers from the self-proclaimed Prince.

Watching his back felt odd.

As if he felt he should have told him to wait, invited him to stay, and told him everything would be okay.

And he didn't know why.

Belphegor, Prince The Ripper, was nothing to him as far as he was concerned, and attacking him proved even more to that case.

XxX

"Oh my! This is not good at all! You should have came to me right away, little one! This could become infected..." It was the next morning, and the boy called Lussuria told him, though his tone was not barbaric nor scolding. Fran found it odd that his tone was caring.

"Ah.." He whimpered, closing one eye as Lussuria pressed the antiseptic gauze to the gash. His fingers curled into the stool he sat on.

"With a clean cut like that, I bet assuming Bel-chan did this is correct?" Completely correct, though Fran could understand having worked with these people it would be only natural to understand the way they used their weapons.

"Yeah." The sea-foam green haired boy replied, "I guess I can understand if he dislikes me because of how I act but..." He was cut off.

"My, my! Bel-chan doesn't dislike you, Fran." To that, he blinked and looked up at the taller one.

"What?" His eyebrows knitted together, like a person suddenly understanding the meaning behind a crude joke.

"I don't really think it's my place to tell you, Fran. But I think he will eventually. Maybe he's just finding it easier to spite you."

Fran groaned, and not only from the throbbing pain as Lussuria applied the bandage. (Though he had been explained to that Lussuria had healing abilities, he was told that he had to comprehend what injuries felt like so he was able to handle them in tough situations on the battle field. Which of course, seemed tedious to him and unbelievable. He was only 13, how could he possibly be assassin material?)

"Oh, another thing. Though I'm sure you won't be too pleased about it. To save you from having more of these scars, I think you might be safer calling him 'Bel-senpai.' I won't leave you in the dark for the reasoning of it. Your older self called Bel-chan that, and I think it may make him relax a little. Our Prince has an obnoxious guard up." Lussuria smiled and tied the ends of the bandage before handing him back his shirt.

"You can head to the mess hall if you like, we have some workmen who make breakfast there in the mornings. Have to keep your strength, y'know?" He winked before turning his back on him.

Fran pulled on his shirt and assumed that he was being politely dismissed. Taking that into consideration, he headed out of the medical room.

Luckily, the Varia was quite well labeled when it came to rooms that were necessary for them. The only problematic part was finding your own sleeping quarter again. He had been told the reasoning behind that was so that infiltrators could not ambush them in their sleep.

He buttoned up the Varia uniform jacket as he walked along the corridor, following the sign to the mess hall.

Despite their characteristics, the mansion was beautifully well kept, and everything was placed in a way that seemed screamed good organization.

Fran pushed the large oak doors open and as he stepped into the hall, it fell completely silent. He blinked, glancing around. Most of the tables were taken up by men who looked almost identical to each other, talking on cell phones or scribbling on paper, 'even in their lunch break?' On a table separated from them were the group that brought him here, standing out from the others.

"Vrooooooooooii! You fucking ungreatful brat, get your ass over here and eat, I'm not carrying around your malnutrition-ed ass!"

In fake dramatics, Fran stuck a finger in one ear and twisted it.

"Captain I'm going to suffer severe migraines if you keep screaming at me." He called, but nevertheless made his way over.

"What are you late for?" The one called Leviathan eyed him. The question at hand rewarded him with a momentary glance from the prince. Well, he figured it was, as all he could assume it from was Belphegor's head turning in his direction.

"Ah, I was to embarrassed to leave my room with this uniform on." He said plainly, taking his seat at an empty space with a tray placed in front on the table.

The prince hadn't smiled at the question, which made him wonder.

It felt awkward sitting beside him, even if it was uncomfortable with the others, it was awkward AND uncomfortable with Belphegor. He could feel him seething, stabbing at his steak as if he was an executioner.

It was going to be a long, long life now.

_To be continued._


End file.
